


A Killer

by MissSubversive



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: FUCK SEASON 3, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Season 3, Season 3 Spoilers, season three, the swimming pool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 12:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19723882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSubversive/pseuds/MissSubversive
Summary: “Fucking Christ, Steve,” Billy says, feeling fingers in his hair, gently stroking. Gently healing.“You called me Steve,” Steve says, with a smile in his voice.--Steve comforts Billy.





	A Killer

**Author's Note:**

> Had to write this little fic after the fuckery of Season 3.

She doesn’t even look like Mom, but when Billy takes Mrs. Wheeler in there’s something familiar radiating from that woman. A love that’s unmistakable. You can’t get that love in a hotel pool but part of him wants to try.

The other part of him is still stuck on King Steve. He came to the pool one day in tight shorts, acting like everyone doesn’t know he has one in his own backyard.

“Don’t you have access to a big body of water that’s free of kid-piss?” Billy asked. “Why are you here?”

“My dad won’t let me lounge without giving me the stink-eye,” Steve said with a shrug, dipping his foot in cautiously, like one of the kids who gets in with floaties on their arms. “Ever since my rejection letters came, he’s—”

“I don’t need your life story, Harrington.”

Steve laughed, like he had seen that coming.

_ Good _ , Billy thought.

Because they’re not friends. They’ll never be anything more than two idiots who beat the shit out of each other when they could have released that tension with a fuck and shared cigarette. And Mrs. Wheeler will never be Mom, but there are other ways to hold her while she pretends she cares. Billy is deeply fucked up and she’s missing out on things he could teach her. They're a match made in small-town hell.

“You were joking about the kid-piss, right?” Steve asked, continuing his slow descent into the pool, making faces.

“I don't joke,” Billy said, turning his back to the other boy and steering his mind away from all the things he wanted to do.

He could do some of those things to Mrs. Wheeler, but she ditches him.

“I'm sorry, I couldn't,” she says the next day.

She's more like Mom than she'll ever know. Almost worse than Dad. Almost worse than death by a thousand cuts.

“Fine,” Billy says, voice cold, eyes empty.

_ Fine _ , because who wouldn't run away from a walking wound?

“Whoa,” Steve says, coming in after Mrs. Wheeler left. “What was that about?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Are you crying?”

Billy's face gets hot as he feels the wetness on his cheek from a single tear. He thought he held it back--but holding back is not his strong suit.

“Get the hell out of here, Harrington.”

“Make me,” Steve says, planting his God damn feet, like he's about to be punched.

Billy laughs. Passes a hand over his face. Laughs some more. Cries a little. Then he's in Steve's arms before he knows what's happening, smelling sunscreen and hair spray.

“Fucking Christ, Steve,” Billy says, feeling fingers in his hair, gently stroking. Gently healing.

“You called me Steve,” Steve says, with a smile in his voice.

“You're such an asshole.”

“I know.”

“Shut up,” Billy says, too weak for this.

Too weak for boyish charm and a taste of what he stopped himself from chasing.

Steve pulls him closer, into a hold that doesn't loosen. Not even when the dam breaks, ugly and messy and perfect in Steve's slighter arms.

“It’s okay,” Steve says.

It’s not, but right now Billy can pretend, and that’s something. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he lies, jerking free to wipe his face.

Steve doesn’t stop looking, and when Billy moves in again Steve doesn’t step back.

Their lips meet and the kiss is like a shot in the arm, stinging before it relieves the pain. Sadness is gone in an instant, but a shaky kind of vulnerable fills its place--a side effect of what’s been injected.

“You’re not okay,” Steve breathes, as a kiss that began at Billy’s mouth ends at his collarbone. “But that is okay. I’m here, and I won’t hurt you.”

_ But you already have _ , Billy doesn’t say.

He just sighs into the next kiss and trembles less as tongues learn mouths and hands learn bodies.

When it’s over, it’s still good.

When it’s over, Steve’s still there, grinning like a dumb ass in Billy’s Camaro while it drives toward the fading sun.

Billy always knew love could feel like this, even before he actually felt it.

Billy always knew love shouldn’t be a killer.


End file.
